The night's so blue
by 23Sammy
Summary: "You know you have to draw back soon, the unspoken rule between you dictating that a maximum of half a minute of physical contact may be permitted before things became… too much." H/N. Fluff. And shooting stars.
1. Random female behaviour

Category: H/N, romance, humour, fluff  
>Rating: T<br>Season: post-14  
>Disclaimer: Belongs all to the BBC and not to me<p>

A/N: As usual very nervous about this, since English still isn't my native language. Hope you like it and since I have *no* idea where this came from, I also have no idea where it is going. But wherever it is, I hope it will be fun :) Huge thanks to Ann1119. For everything.

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><p>She's looking upset. And offended. Which puzzles you, because you haven't said anything that could even remotely be interpreted as either upsetting or offending. Which in fact means, you haven't spoken a single word for the past hour, mainly due to the fact that it was the written word that claimed your attention for the last sixty minutes. And by written word you mean, basically, struggling with things like intracranial haemorrhage.<p>

Well, not you as a whole, of course - your fingers to be more precise.

You wonder how you can make an tiny incision with a scalpel on a millimetre-scale even at four in the morning without coffee or effort, yet seem to be unable to hit a button that is at least a square-*centimetre* big, not to mention clearly labelled with an unmissable black "a". Maybe it's because you'd rather do a PM at four in the morning than type the report that goes with it at nine in the evening. Hypothetically speaking. You can think of other things you'd rather do at both times of night actually, but you don't allow your mind to go there.

For various reasons.

One of which is sitting just a few feet away.

Instead you try to figure out if *not* saying a single word for an hour might be considered upsetting or offending in the nikkiverse. After a minute of looking inquiringly over the rim of your screen at her frowning face, you decide there is no way you can solve this puzzle on your own.

"Something wrong?"

"No."

One word. And a full stop. You could *hear* that full stop. Which translates as: Yes, something is wrong, but if you don't know what it is, than that is even more wrong and I am even more upset now and won't tell you why, because you should have known what is wrong in the first place, so figure it out on your own and preferably soon or I will be even more upset still.

Suddenly, typing intracranial haemorrhage with a blindfold and on an unmarked keyboard sounds like a far more attractive and promising challenge in comparison. As does wielding a scalpel at four in the morning.

You scan her desk for any sharp items with potentially good flight qualities and only on deciding that there is nothing that could inflict serious bodily harm, you try again.

"Sure? You seem a bit on edge..."

"Yes. Sure."

Two full stops. Both of them, well... *full* actually. Of anger. She doesn't look up, but the frown deepens. You are still not sure if this has anything to do with you, but you rewind to the beginning of the day and fast-forward, just to be sure. Crime-scene this morning? That was you and Leo. Lunch? That was all three of you and you were talking shop with Leo most of the time. The PM after lunch? That was just you and Zak. The office after that? That was just you, because now it was *her* out and about going to investigate a suspicious death in Battersea. When she came back an hour ago? You were silent, so...

Ah.

Problem identified.

"How was your day, by the way?"

Problem solved. Very smoothly...

But why is she adding a glare to the frown now?

"Don't ask."

_Oh, you are joking..._

You are now faced with a new challenge: Does it mean "please ask again, because really I do want to talk about it, but need to be sure you really want to know and are really willing to listen to me" or simply "bugger off, Harry, and leave me alone." She is looking at you now, her eyes full of anger, but you have a hard time deciphering its meaning or source. Which is unsettling, because you usually pride yourself in being able to read her quite well. So what now? Attack? Retreat? Diversion?

"Coffee?" You smile at her and get up.

Diversion.

She doesn't give you a smile, but a sharp nod and growls her approval. You leave the room in search of caffeine and once you successfully obtained two mugs of coffee, you make your way back through the empty hallway. Or almost empty. You are so preoccupied, that you only notice Leo a second before actually bumping into him. You grind to a stop, careful not to spill any coffee. Leo grins at you.

"Mind somewhere else?"

"In the office actually."

"Ah."

Leo is sliding his left arm in slow-motion into his jacket, then repeats the procedure with his right arm. You wonder if he ever did any breakdancing in the 80ies, but decide that is highly unlikely. He might have bought the jacket in that particular decade, though...

He looks at you inquiringly.

"Where in the office is your mind precisely right now?"

"Well, one part obviously somewhere in the middle of the Slater-report..."

"... and the other?"

Leo is raising an eyebrow, but by the tone of his voice you can tell that he already knows. You hate it when he does and at the same time admire his ability to notice everything that is going on, how insignificant it might seem. You sigh.

"She is angry."

"What did you do?"

Before you can raise your arms in a defensive and angry gesture, you fortunately remember that you are holding two mugs of steaming coffee. Not a good idea to express your feelings in any kind of spontaneous physical movement. So instead of your arms you raise your voice and give Leo an indignant look.

"Not every fit of anger on her part is the result of misbehaviour on my part. Not this one anyway. I didn't even see much of her until now, so in no way can it be anything I did or said today."

Leo is opening his mouth, but you pre-empt him: "Or yesterday, if that is what you are suggesting." Leo shrugs and suggests the obvious.

"Why don't you just ask her."

"I did."

"What did she say?"

"Don't ask."

"What did she *say*, Harry."

"Don't. Ask."

Leo sighs. "How am I supposed to offer advice, if you don't tell me what she said?"

"I just did. She said: Don't ask."

"Oh."

Now Leo looks as puzzled as you did just a few minutes back and it gives you grim satisfaction to see that even mighty Professor Dalton is sometimes at a loss when it comes to random female behaviour in general and Nikki-behaviour in particular.

"Oh. Precisely."

Leo gestures at the coffee. "But whatever it might be, you think bribery will help?"

"I am ashamed to admit it, but yessss... only thing I can think of. Anyway..."

You try to shrug it off. "It's probably nothing serious."

Leo is zipping up his jacket and pats your shoulder.

"I am sure. I'm off now, Janet is waiting. She has set her mind on going for a midnight walk and watching the skies tonight."

You want to make a joke, but instead give a slow nod, as a piece of information buried somewhere in the back of your head, re-emerges slowly.

"Ah...watching the P...erseids presumably?"

Leo looks impressed. "Very good, Dr. Cunningham, I didn't know that astronomy was among your fields of expertise."

"I am a man of many talents, Professor Dalton." You grin and decide to ignore the snort-slash-laugh that follows this revelation and instead set yourself and the coffee back in motion. A little idea is starting to form in your head.

A little idea you rather start to like.

After all, the world would be a dull place without little ideas.

Now where have you heard that one before?


	2. Suitability issues

"So, what are your plans for tonight?" you ask casually as you set down the mug in front of her. She doesn't look up, but keeps staring at the file in front of her. Which, as you note with a certain level of alarm, is still closed and all she's apparently done since you left the room was look at the label. At first she doesn't reply, but sensing that you won't take your eyes off her and your body out of her personal space before she gives you an answer, she finally says:

"Working."

You gesture towards the folder on her desk. "Is it that urgent?"

"Everything we do is urgent. Besides, I have no other plans."

"What? No plans? How come? Where is suitable Adam tonight?"

You sit down on the edge of her desk and push the mug in an encouraging action a little closer towards her. Eventually she takes the mug in both hands and her eyes off the folder. But she doesn't lift either. Instead she now stares at her hands which enclose the ceramic object.

"Andrew. And he is not suitable... anymore."

You raise your eyebrows in genuine surprise, which for a moment even overrides the very inappropriate feeling of relief at this revelation. You hadn't seen this one coming. Though is does explain the foul mood she is in.

"He was still suitable yesterday as I recall. In fact, I remember you giving a whole Shakespearian monologue on the suitability of Archie..."

"Andrew."

"... as a serious relationship candidate. I also recall threats of various severity and nature against my entirely innocent person banning me from ever thinking, let alone saying, anything unsuitable about suitable Angus."

"Andrew. And I didn't."

"Oh yes, you did. You said Allister was a wonderful caring person with a wonderful normal job, whom you never expected to be so easy about your not so normal job and that is was going so well and that you thought you finally found a decent bloke..."

"Andrew. And I meant: I didn't threaten you."

"You did. But I have no idea why, really."

She looks at you properly now and when you see to your own surprise something like guilt shimmering behind the anger, you signal to take the first exit from the slippery road this conversation is now running on. The last thing you want is to make her feel guilty - or start a blazing row. Which, by the look on her face, is what she on the other hand wouldn't mind getting into. Your voice starts to betray the concern you suddenly feel.

"Seriously, Nikki, what happened?"

"Nothing... it was nothing..." She looks at you again and whatever she sees in your eyes suddenly takes all the fight out of her. She sighs and shakes her head, her hands still clasped around the mug.

"I was just wrong, I thought he was decent and kind and now I know he's..."

Her voice trails off. You look at her confused.

"He's...?"

"Unsuitable." she simply states, pushes the mug to the side and starts scribbling something on the label of the folder, thus avoiding your gaze. When she finally breaks the silence her voice is quiet, but there is a trace of suspicion in it.

"Isn't that what you thought about him from the start?"

Uh...

"Uh... well..."

Yeah, that response went well, sometimes you should really not voice your *exact* thoughts.

"Uh. Well. What?" she snaps, puts the pen down and crosses her arms in front of her chest.

Battle-mode.

Red Alert.

Not good.


	3. Anger Management

Her expression is thunderous now. You push yourself off her desk, feeling her anger expand towards you, radiating, pulsating, charging the air between you with something you know will explode if you allow yourself to be drawn into the gravitational pull of this angry shining star in front of you. Strange metaphor, you think, but on a more serious note, you know what will happen if you do. You've been there before. And more often than not, you were the one responsible for the creation of various exploding angry supernovas.

What is it with you and astronomy tonight?

Anyway, you don't include the loud blazing shouting matches over a difficult case or at the end of a stressful week. To any unfortunate person one, two or three rooms next to you, those probably sound quite horrible and worrying, but in reality those fights are just a way to vent anger or stress or both and they usually end as fast as they started and - most of the time - either with a fit of laughter or a tight hug or a shared bottle of wine or two.

The ones you are afraid of are of a different nature and magnitude altogether. They are the moments when you clench your fists and yell you know not what until you think your vocal cords will snap. They are the moments when her whole frame shakes with anger and she seems to drown in tears, because they refuse to flow from her dark eyes. They are the moments when you hurl words at each other that hurt more than any physical blow. And there's the silence afterwards, when there is nothing more to say and the world goes cold and dark and you don't speak to each other for days. Thankfully, on the whole you've only had a few of those and they all ended more or less also with laughter, hugging, alcohol or all of the above.

But they scare you. More than anything else. And most of the time they started exactly like this.

With a rather personal, but normal conversation.

And with you making a) a stupid joke at her expense b) a stupid joke at one of her boyfriends' expense c) a stupid joke on a number of topics that are important to her or d) with giving her a flippant, silly or arrogant answer to a serious question, because you are too afraid to tell her the truth and of where said truth might lead you. It's usually d) that does the most damage, though you wonder why a) to c) all contain the phrase "stupid joke".

Up until now you thought you had a rather brilliant sense of humour.

"Admit it, Harry. You thought he was an idiot, didn't you? Or do you just automatically assume he has to be if he is dating me? Silly Nikki picking another stupid loser. Unfortunately this one didn't last long enough for you to come up with appropriate jokes on the subject matter! Uh, well, indeed!"

She is getting up now, cheeks flushed, eyes blazing, her hands grabbing the edge of her desk. You take another step back out of the ring, fighting the inevitable. You can feel your head getting hot, feel the pressure building up in your chest, the angry knot in your stomach tightening at her words.

No. Don't. Get. Angry.

You breathe in. And out. You will not let her do this. Not to you and not to herself. Not after all that has happened this year. You almost choke on the air that you force into your lungs, the anger that is somehow always inside you fighting to keep muscles tense and blood-pressure high. You concentrate on keeping your hands open, on breathing in and out, on relaxing every muscle you can consciously control. And suddenly you are calm. The anger is gone. You're in control again. You've won. It surprises you, but you don't have time to reflect on it now. Now you need to say the right thing to end this.

Uh... uh...

Nothing comes to mind.

"Is there actually anything I *can* say that will prevent us getting into this fight?" you hear yourself asking in a very calm and gentle voice.

Nice one. Wherever it came from.

She stares at you, her face still contorted by anger, but you notice her hands are slowly letting go of the desk. You look at her and wait. Finally she shakes her head and sighs.

"No, there is nothing you can say..."

"Nikki, please..."

"...ice-cream might help, though."

Bollocks. Why couldn't she have said packet of crisps or Mars-bar? But still. It's a start. Just be careful now and don't blow it, you warn yourself. She is still not smiling.

"Ah, well..."

Bollocks.

She blinks at you, the frown that was about to wave good-bye suddenly not wanting to leave after all.

"*Ah*, well?"

For a moment you don't know what else to do than respond with a sheepish grin. Then finally your brain kicks back in.

"Okay, just to clarify: "Ah" in this context is an interjection that shows surprise and/or pleasure. It has a very positive, affirmative connotation. Very different from and not at all comparable to "uh". For the use of which I apologise, by the way."

"Wow, you can still form complete sentences after all. I am impressed."

"Thank you."

"Does "ah" mean that you can positively affirm that there will be ice-cream?"

She is sliding back into her chair and leans forward to rest her elbows on the desk and her heard on her hands. When she finally looks up, finally a small smile starts to form in the corners of her mouth. You can see she is still a little apprehensive, so you smile reassuringly back at her, while you slowly make your way to her desk and sit back down on the edge of it.

"I'm afraid not. "Ah" in the particular context means that I can surprise you with a Mars-bar, vinegar crisps and..."

You search the pockets of your trousers and lift a silvery crumpled object with a triumphant smile.

"One strip of peppermint chewing gum."

She starts to giggle, while you inspect the chewing gum a little closer and frown.

"Make that half a strip of chewing gum. I could put the Mars-bar in the freezer though..." you suggest.

She puts her hands down with a sigh and rests her head on the top of her desk, while stretching her arms out on the even surface, until the tips of her fingers lightly brush against your knee.

"I am sorry", she mumbles into her desk, without looking up.

"What happened?"

She draws herself up in the chair and crosses her arms in front of her chest again, but this time it is not a defensive or angry gesture. After a moment it melts into a shrug.

"Nothing, really. Just. The usual. Don't really want to talk about it. Plus, I have to file the report on the drowned girls which will basically help to prove that it was an accident that could have been avoided if the father of Mary, the older girl, had not left them alone to go for a smoke."

She touches the folder for a moment and moves it slowly further to the left, away from you both. "Losing your child like that is hard enough, but being responsible for it *and* also for the death of another child..."

You understand why this is bothering her. In a way, murders are sometimes easier to deal with than accidental deaths. You find out how it was done and if you're lucky who did it. You may think about the crime, the case, for a while, wondering what thoughts and feelings led someone to the decision to end another human being's life. You know from experience that Nikki does it on every single case, far more intense than you do. But no matter how much a murder inquiry bothers either of you: At the end of the day, one person did something horrible to another person. Consciously. Deliberately. Accident is something else. There is no consciously. Or deliberately. There is only cruel chance and coincidence, wrong decisions leading to something unexpected and a lot of "if only" and "didn't mean to". It is the police's and the courts' job to decide wether someone can be held accountable for an accidental death, but still... Nikki's report will influence the proceedings. And in this case bring a lot of grief. So you really understand why this is bothering her so much.

You also understand that it is time to put your little idea into action.

"Okay. Tell you what. I don't have ice-cream and only half a strip of chewing gum will not do, even if it is quite delicious..."

"What flavour was it again?"

"...Peppermint... but, there is something else I have."

She looks intrigued now, the grin on your face mirrored on hers. She leans forward and grips the edge of the desk excitedly.

"What it is?"

Your grin spreads wider.

"Just a little idea."


	4. Little ideas

You tell her to finish her report and that you will be back in half an hour to pick her up. You don't wait for the inevitable protest/probing that follows your words ("Wait! Picking me up to go where? I am not dressed for going out. And I don't know if I can finish this in half an hour. Where are you going now? Harry?"), but rush out of the room and stride purposefully down the corridor. When you return 26 minutes later you find her hunched over a printout, biting the back of her biro in concentration. You stay in the door and wait for her to finish reading the page. When she finally puts both biro and page down and sighs, you make your presence known.

"So? Ready?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On what it is I am supposed to be ready for."

"Ah."

"Will you stop doing that?"

"Uh... No."

You grin broadly, cross your arms in front of your chest and lean casually against the door-frame. For a second you think you can glimpse something in her eyes, as she watches you, something you don't know how to describe, but that makes your heart beat a little faster all over sudden. Then it is gone, replaced by amusement.

"You are really annoying sometimes, you know that?"

"mh hm."

"Will you tell me where we are going?"

"Not far. You'll see. Come on."

"Harry..."

There is regret in her voice and as you follow her gaze and realise it leads to the folder on her desk, you push yourself off the door-frame and towards her. Her left hand is resting anxiously on the top of the folder. When you reach her, you briefly cover her hand with yours. She looks up at you.

"Just a little break. Will do you good. I promise: No talking about unsuitable Angus and if you want to, I can help you with this report later."

She gives you another small smile. Her hand, the one that had been resting palms down on the folder, turns and suddenly closes around yours.

"Thanks."

You squeeze her hand and feel her respond, as she tightens her grip just a little bit more. Her smile is softer now and when you look into her eyes, you can see that the anxiousness and anger from before is almost gone and slowly replaced by...

... something is wrong.

Oh.

Right.

Breathe, Harry.

You clear your throat and let go of her hand.

"Just to be clear on this. I am not taking you out for an expensive dinner or a concert or the theatre, I don't have flowers or presents or even ice-cream for that matter, so don't thank me yet."

"So if we are not having dinner or music or entertainment, then were are we going?"

"Just outside."

"Just outside?"

You nod. "Just outside."

Now she looks puzzled. "But it's almost completely dark outside."

"That's part of the plan."

"To drag me out onto the street in the dark?"

"Didn't say anything about the street..."

You finally manage to coax her out of the office and somehow once she is in the corridor things finally move a little more swiftly. You can still see the apprehension in her face, the brighter and harsher light out here revealing how dark and deep the shadows under her eyes are. You hadn't noticed before in the cosy semi-darkness of the office. You also hadn't fully noticed how tense she is. Her movements are sharp and edgy and every so often her hand reaches up to her neck. She is talking to you about the report, but you barely listen, guilt suddenly flooding your soul. Why hadn't you noticed before? She is tired. And stressed. And you hadn't noticed. You wonder how much other stuff you hadn't noticed.

"Am I doing the right thing, Harry?"

"I don't know if there is a right thing in a case like this."

You push open the door to the upper parking-deck and give her a stern look.

"Alright. Once we are through this door, no more talking shop."

"But..."

"Ah!"

"I assume this is not a "surprise/pleasure"-ah."

"No that is a "Don't even think about breaking this rule"-ah."

"Alright. But technically I am still in the building, so just to remind you, I still have work to do, so we cannot drive very far away."

"Who said anything about driving?"

You step into the warm summer night, not waiting for her, because you know she is too curious not to follow you. You make your way to the other side of the parking deck, where its almost completely dark. You can hear her catching up with you and giving a little gasp of surprise.

"What?"

Next to your car - that you moved there from its previous resting place a little earlier - is a thick blanket covering the concrete floor. Two big cushions that look both in size and colour as if they'd been snatched out of two old-fashioned deck chairs are resting against the side of the car.

You are glad it's too dark to see that there are scary big red birds randomly scattered across the fabric. You are also glad, it is too dark for her to see that you forgot to remove the price-tag. You have absolutely no idea what to do with these monstrosities after tonight, but hope that your Mum might like big red scary birds. She at least *has* deck chairs to put them on.

The little light that does illuminate the scene comes from an old plastic sandwich-wrapper, spiked with a dozen pink birthday candles, two of which are shaped like the number "2".

She is giggling now. "Twenty-two? Seriously?"

"You should be flattered. I could have bought the ones with a four on it."

She shoots you an outraged look.

"Or a five or six..."

The punch on the arm that follows this suggestion is well deserved and you accept it gracefully and grin.

"Sorry, but the only other thing Tesco Express had on offer was a scented candle that smelled suspiciously like the cutting-room. Not my idea of relaxing."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Harry, but... the parking-deck isn't mine either."

You smile at her and point at the sky. "It's a lovely summer's night and I happen to know that there will be quite a spectacular light show on display tonight. Granted we are in the city and there's too much light pollution to see it in it's full glory, but if we look closely we might be able to spot a shooting star or two."

She blinks.

Is blinking good? You are not sure.

She is blinking again. And again.

As your eyes are adjusting to the dark you can finally spot why. There are tears in her eyes. For a second you are torn between anger and panic. Is there nothing you can do right today? But then you see the smile on her face and you realise these are actually good tears.

Apparently blinking is good.

Silence descends upon both of you. You listen to the sounds of the city below and the building behind you, but they seem far away. At first the night sky is only a brownish-grey mass with a few dots strewn across it, but as you focus on the universe above you, it becomes clearer. More defined. More and more stars emerge and you start to see a constellation or two you remember.

You don't point them out to her, though, because that would be seriously cliched, not to mention destroying the wonderful silent bubble of bliss you are both confined in at the moment. You want to tell her to sit down and get the wine you have stored on the passenger seat, but you don't do that either. Instead you move a little, so that you are standing behind her and watch her as she casts her eyes upwards.

Nikki's eyes are fixed on the sky, her features finally softening. When you spot the muscles in her neck and shoulder twitching in relief at the end of hours of tension and anger, you smile. Mission accomplished. Well, almost. You don't say anything, knowing that the truce between tired body and upset mind is still very fragile and a single wrong word might shatter it. And since single wrong words are one of your specialities today, you decide to opt for silence. Better safe than sorry.

"Harry, look!"

She points up into the night excitedly now and you catch a short glimpse of a bright tiny streak of light across the sky. Then another one. And another one.

Wow.

"Wow."

She tries to get a better view, which results in her not only leaning back, but actually into you. Not that you mind. Without even noticing it consciously you slide your arms around her, holding her in light embrace. When you do notice it, you feel ridiculously relieved that she doesn't seem to mind or notice either.

"There's another one!"

You don't know how it got there, but somehow your head is on her shoulder now, your eyes close and you give yourself up to the sweet smell of her, to the warm skin of her neck and cheek against yours and to the strange but wonderful feeling of coming home that washes over you. You know you have to draw back soon, the unspoken rule between you dictating that a maximum of half a minute of physical contact may be permitted before things became... too much. Which is a rather vague explanation for an otherwise very precise rule, but you don't know how to phrase the jumble of emotions and reasons and consequences and fears more clearly than that.

But before you can make your retreat, her arms are suddenly somehow entangled with yours and her hands are holding your wrists and therefore your arms and the rest of you in place. You heart skips a beat when you hear a small sigh in the otherwise quiet night.

"This is nice."

You only nod against her neck and mumble a rather incoherent agreement.

"Hmm."

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

Okay, this is probably the moment, you are supposed to switch your higher cognitive functions back on and restore the ability to use vowels in speech.

"What?"

You are not really sure if you are ready for whole sentences yet.

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"This."

Before you can reply that you actually didn't do anything, she turns her head and places a soft kiss on your cheek. You can't help but smile and hold her a little tighter. You don't know who started it, but suddenly you are swaying lightly as if dancing to your very own private song. If you had a song, you wonder what it would be.

"If we had a song, what would it be?"

"What?"

Okay, what did we say earlier about *not* voicing exact thoughts?

"Ignore me", you mumble into her neck. You could get used to being there, you think and at the same time wonder how you a) got there in the first place and b) why she is allowing you to stay there. She is silent for a moment and you think that she actually complied with your request, but then she says.

"We can work it out."

It takes you a second, but then you start laughing and hope she doesn't catch the sigh sneaking into the laughter.

"Something stupid"

She's laughing now, too, a clear, happy sound mingling with the silence of the night.

"Speak for yourself."

"I am", you reply. "... and then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid."

You sigh. "Could be my signature line, really."

She suddenly moves out of your embrace and you have to use all your remaining will-power not to make some embarrassing sound of disappointment. You blink yourself back to reality. She is sitting down on the makeshift deck chair and you join her a moment later.

You are surprised that it is actually rather comfortable. You lean your head back against the cushion and look into the sky again.

"How does it continue?"

"Hm?"

"The song. What's the next line?"

"Don't remember" you mumble and close your eyes - which really has nothing to do with being tired. You close your eyes, so she won't spot the lie in them. Of course you know the next line of the song.

You just hope she doesn't...


End file.
